Remembering
by dinkleberg
Summary: Charles Xavier tries his best to remember the man he loved. Cherik, oneshot.


**Remembering**  
><em>a Cherik oneshot<em>

The rain poured down relentlessly on the Xavier Institute as a lone telepath moved individual chess pieces across the board without even touching them, his blue, unassuming eyes fixed on them with unwavering concentration. It had become a nightly routine for Charles Xavier to wheel himself into the very room that he was sitting in—a room that he knew once held bittersweet memories for him—and play chess by himself, controlling both sides of the chess board.

The younger mutants staying with him had always offered their time for a game he knew they would never have the patience for—a game that would never be the same without his usual opponent. He knew he had a usual opponent, but there were only fragments of their last game together—fragments that controlled the way he controlled the pieces that stood across his own on the board. It had become something of a personal goal to Charles to move his now non-existent opponent's pieces as precisely and accurately as _he _would move them.

What—what was his name? Charles had great difficulty remembering—he had erased it from his own memory banks willingly, having been consumed with grief and sorrow at the loss of that one person he now tried to remember again. But he couldn't recall a single thing, except a silhouette of the man that was supposed to be sitting across him at this very moment.

Sebastian Shaw was dead, but he was killed by a man whose name and face Charles had completely forgotten—except his eyes. Charles could never stop thinking—or dreaming—about those eyes. They were always watching him with a sort of protectiveness in them—Charles swore he could always feel the intensity of the stare, as though there were a million emotions bottled up and hidden behind those beautiful, unfeeling eyes of—

Charles cursed under his breath as his queen went zooming across the room and ended up breaking into half as it crashed into a bookshelf. He would have to replace that, but he didn't care—all he knew was that he almost had the answer right there. He almost remembered the name of the man he was missing—it was there, on the tip of his tongue and buried in his heart. If only he had the strength to try harder to remember the name that those piercing eyes belonged to.

Charles wheeled himself out of the room silently and made his way outside, letting the cold air caress his face and rush through his body as he took deep breaths—

A strangled sob echoed out of nowhere, catching Charles by surprise. He looked around but found no one outside with him. He used his telepathy to stretch out and locate the hidden stranger, but sensed no one anywhere near him, except the sleeping mutants inside. They were all there—and he was alone.

It didn't bother him at first, but he began to find it baffling when he heard it a second time. The loud creaking of metal followed soon after, and Charles looked up in the direction of the satellite dish that stood in the distance, as though the sound had come from the structure despite the fact that it did not move at all. He closed his eyes again and this time, he could see the man's face.

"I want you by my side," a voice echoed in his mind—a voice too familiar for Charles to reject as just a hallucination, "We're brothers, all of us—and you and I; we are more than that, aren't we?"

Charles could see the man's eyes again. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen as he felt a wave of regret and sadness washing over him, coming from the man that was holding him on that very shore—

"I love you," the nameless man whispered, his face clear to Charles, "I always will."

The telepath let out a soft cry as he revisited his forgotten memories, so completely immersed in them that he did not feel the strong hand that rested itself on his shoulder. Suddenly, he could smell the familiar cologne again, as though this wasn't just another flashback. He opened his eyes and ended his recollections, and found that the scent was still there.

He remembered that scent.

The first time he had truly drowned himself in it was when he had been beaten for the first time in chess and gave in to his desires. Raven could never have beaten him in all those years, and he knew right there and then—he knew who was standing next to him without even looking up.

"You," Charles breathed, "You came back."

"For you," the familiar voice said again, and this time there was no echo, "I wanted to see you again—to see if the rumors were true."

"Rumors?" repeated Charles, afraid to look at the man that was beside him for fear of it being just his own imagination, "What rumors?"

The man chuckled. "That you went bald," he replied, clearly amused.

Charles laughed. "I did say that, didn't I?" he mused, smiling, "I didn't think you would… ever set foot in here ever again."

"And why wouldn't I?"

The telepath frowned. "I don't know," he said, "I can't remember."

"You can't remember?" The man's voice turned a little worried as he realized what Charles had just said. "What do you mean you can't remember?" The grip on his shoulder tightened itself as the man crouched down next to Charles. "What happened to you?"

"I—I chose to forget," Charles answered sadly, tears welling up in his eyes, "And I regret that because… I want to remember who you are—I want to remember your name and not just your eyes because I've been missing a stranger for nearly two years now."

"Charles," the voice purred, getting closer to him, "Look at me."

"What if you're not real?" Charles continued, "What if I'm just dreaming?"

"Tell me I'm real enough for you," the man insisted, his hand falling on top of Charles' and taking a hold of it gently, "Tell me this doesn't feel real."

"What if I'm just remembering again?"

"What's my name, Charles?" the man asked, reaching up to touch the telepath's face and turning the frightened face towards him. "Tell me my name, because _I _can't remember either."

His face was just as beautiful as it was two years ago, if not even more. Charles became slightly breathless in the man's presence as their eyes locked, as an overwhelming urge to just kiss him consumed him completely. The man's eyes were exactly as they were in his head—intense, filled with countless emotions that he had kept as though they were souvenirs throughout his life—and it scared Charles.

It didn't have to be a dream this time—and even if it was, Charles desperately hoped that he wouldn't wake up anytime soon. It was all he ever wanted.

"Your name is…" he croaked, leaning in slowly, "Your name… Your name…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as their lips met and he began to drown again, just like he used to with the man he knew belonged to him. Charles leaned in a little more, as though he wanted to be even closer than he already was, as though if he went close enough, he would finally remember the damn name that has been escaping him for so long.

Then, he reached out to the man's mind and accessed his—no, their—memories. The answer was there as Charles felt the man open up to his mental infiltration, as though he had done it so many times before, and he felt everything come flooding back. The feel of his lips, the taste of his skin and the scent of his hair and body—everything became crystal clear to Charles Xavier as he finally pulled away, gasping for air because they had been kissing for so long, the answer finally coming back to him.

Charles' lips stretched into a smile as he reached out and touched his lover's face.

"Erik?" he uttered, "Erik, is that you?"

Erik Lehnsherr smiled, for the first time in a long time ever since he left Charles Xavier, injured and abandoned. He had so many things to say to Charles—he wanted to apologize for leaving him, he wanted to ask for Charles' forgiveness, he wanted to have another round of chess again and he wanted to tell Charles that he missed him—

"I love you," he breathed, as Charles leaned in once more to find his lips in the darkness of the night.

Because that was enough for the both of them. Because finding each other was all they ever wanted. Because remembering was the best thing that had ever happened to Charles Xavier.


End file.
